


"A man can vandalize his own memorial, can't he?"

by UnderTheRedHood



Series: Here Lies Jason Peter Todd [3]
Category: Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood: Lost Days, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Brother Feels, Comfort/Angst, Resurrected Jason Todd, batfamily, jason is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:07:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5191565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnderTheRedHood/pseuds/UnderTheRedHood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick and Jason have a reunion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"A man can vandalize his own memorial, can't he?"

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for an angsty batbro fic.

“A man can vandalize his own memorial, can’t he?”

Dick watched in caution, eying the teenager warily.  He was a teenager still, right?  19.  God, how could his little brother be so old?

How could his little brother be so-- alive?

Jason knew who it was immediately-- like time hadn’t passed at all and they were the same kids who’d play truth or dare on the roof of the Manor at 4am when Bruce had grounded them from patrolling.  Dick almost smiled, remembering.  He was too old to be grounded even then but what kind of brother would he be if he just ditched Jason whenever Batman got a little broody?

It was the first time they’d seen each other in four years.  Sure, Red Hood and Nightwing interacted once or twice but this… this Dick and Jason thing… it’d been forever.

Jason held a spray can in one hand, leaning onto the stone surface that read “HERE LIES JASON TODD”.  This was the same kid they had lost-- the same snarky expression and messy part in his hair-- the same way he stood with his legs shoulder-length apart in a constant state of defense.

And… this wasn’t the same kid they had lost-- this man had harder eyes, less of a smile, scarring across his face and neck.  This man didn’t trust him.

“Hey Little-Wing,” Dick tried to sooth the words out into the cool early-winter air.

Jason’s jaw shifted as he calculated his own discomfort, reminding Dick of when they first met.  Jason was so scrawny back then: smaller than Tim or him.  Bruce used to tease him about it.

Dick took a leap of faith, quietly letting his feet drop from off the branch so they’d be on the same level.

“See you lost the disco-suit.”

Dick snorted, easing the tension immediately.  The original Nightwing suit was one of several questionable decisions he made back then.

“Yeah.  See you haven’t lost your artistic talent.”  The red skull graffitied on Jason’s headstone wasn’t quite Picasso.

“Care to join?” He asked, reaching down into a duffel and coming back with another spray can.  This one was blue.

Dick hesitated.  The idea of vandalizing the memorial of his little brother was sickening; but with Jason there-- standing straight in front of him, the real importance lay in reunion.  Dick caught the bottle when Jason tossed it.

“I mean, fuck,” Jason swore, slamming the heel of his boot onto the frozen ground with enough force to shatter bones.  Maybe that’s what he was imagining with that foreign, stiff frown. “Rest in peace?  What kind of shit is that anyways?”

Dick shook his head earnestly, without a thing in the world to know.  There was an entire universe to draw the line between Jason and him, the differences incalculable; Jason knew so much he didn’t.  The reverse was probably true too.  But hell, who cared?

“Who the fuck cares about these bastards anyways?” Jason echoed, scowling at the cemetery laid out before them.  Thomas and Martha Wayne.  They would’ve been something like grandparents to the two original robins- had they lived long enough to see their son turn into a man.  Or would they?  If they hadn’t of died, where would the world be?  A world without Batman-- without Robin, without Nightwing, without the very gravestone Jason and Dick were vandalizing.

“Bruce.” Dick murmured, staring down at his blue spray can.  He mildly wondered what other colors Jason had brought in the duffle bag that lay strewn against the trunk of an oak tree a few yards from them.

“Bruce doesn’t care about anybody,” Jason growled, each word so hauntingly honest.  And Dick-- Dick didn’t agree but Jason was telling the truth anyways-- what he thought to be true.

 _Jason, you aren’t alone.  But how tough it must be to go through the world thinking you are._ Dick longed to say.  Instead he bit against the lower part of his lip, pretending there was Pink Floyd playing in the background as Jason violently shook the spray can again.

Dick smirked instead, “you know-- Gotham was kinda quiet without you around.”

“Oh please,” Jason scoffed, playing along, “your sorry asses get busy trying to handle shit without me?”

Rolling his blue eyes, Dick’s heart ached.

 _I didn’t go to your funeral._ He wanted to say, _Bruce didn’t even tell me.  I had to find out from some punk kid while away with the Titans._

“Batmobile’s a little too clean these days, anyways,” Dick laughed.  Man, a kid-- some little kid trying to steal the hubcaps off the Batmobile-- now wasn’t that a funny thought.

_Bruce tried to kill the Joker, you know.  He won’t tell you that ‘cause Supes stopped him but he was going to.  He would’ve broken his rule for you, Jason.  He loved you.  We did.  We do-- still._

“Ey, what kind of genius doesn’t have a security system for his tires?  A goddamn dinosaur in his fucking batcave but not secure tires.”

_The first time Tim ever put on the suit, I wanted to throw up.  We never saw him as a replacement to you._

“Seriously.  I don’t know what Bruce would’ve done without you.”

Jason stopped but didn’t turn around, standing dangerously still; his lanky figure grew shadowed as the silhouettes of forest evaporated around him.

“Did just fine for years.”

“Jay--” Dick shrugged his shoulder, reaching out for some piece of Jason’s ripped fabric shirt-- something to remember the feel of however many years from now when there was another funeral, this one perhaps a little more permanent.  

How could he possibly convey to his brother that... that they survived and moved on because _they had to_.  Because there wasn't another option. _Because we thought we were doing what you would've wanted._

“Aren’t you going to ask?” Jason growled, his eyes gleaming greener than they used to in a way that frightened Dick.

“Ask what?” His voice came out softer than intended, spongy like it could soak up all the tension trapped in between the trees and brush.

“What it was like.  How it felt.”

They locked eye contact again, the anger burning straight through Dick’s veneer of empathy to unlock the curiosity lying dormant beneath.  It felt impossible to know what Jason needed-- impossible for Dick to _be_ what Jason needed.

Dick swallowed all the heaviness in his throat, “how did it feel?  To die?”

Jason didn’t look up this time, “lonely.”


End file.
